


Bunny Slippers

by NeedsMoreBears



Category: Original Work
Genre: BDSM, Canadians in space, Casual Sex, F/F, Mad Science, creative repurposing of laboratory equipment, miscommunication about roles, or technically mad engineering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-12
Updated: 2020-06-12
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:40:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24397438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NeedsMoreBears/pseuds/NeedsMoreBears
Summary: Piata was lying on her back, screwing in bolts to mount the third fabricator (in the boring and literal sense), when the door hissed open and the captain entered. From this vantage point, Captain Zulybeth Spear Contreras seemed improbably tall and improbably statuesque, and her hat seemed improbably stupid.Piata, who was not at ease with administrators at the best of times, and certainly not when they had interrupted boring but time-sensitive screwing, said, "Hi."
Relationships: Snarky Womanizer Fleet Captain/Cute Scientist Resistant to Captain's Charm (OW)
Comments: 7
Kudos: 8
Collections: The First Annual Femslash Kink Exchange 2020





	Bunny Slippers

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ilthit](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ilthit/gifts).



> A present for Ilthit, whose prompts led me from thinking about corsetry to thinking about Starfleet uniforms.
> 
> Thank you to Empress Ellie and to etothey, who helped me make everyone snarkier.

Piata Kushnirenko was on the GES _Musquash_ for eleven days and seventeen hours before she met its captain. As far as Piata was concerned, this was at least a year too soon. She had her very own lab, 79 cubic meters and change. If she didn't have grad students or techs or tenure, that was a fair trade for an eight-year (renewable) contract, the majority of which would be spent _in the depths of space_. No need to write grants, no need to write grant reports—Piata was living the dream. And it wasn't a dream that involved authority figures.

Piata was lying on her back, screwing in bolts to mount the third fabricator (in the boring and literal sense), when the door hissed open and the captain entered. From this vantage point, Captain Zulybeth Spear Contreras seemed improbably tall and improbably statuesque, and her hat seemed improbably stupid. Once Piata scrambled to her feet, she realized the captain had only a few centimeters' height advantage. The captain's bust still curved outward beneath her slick space-captain uniform in a way that suggested figureheads on sailing ships and other feats of engineering. Her hat would have made a jaunty topper for a box of jelly doughnuts. Instead, it sat upon a woman with rumpled dark curls and a smile of merely average jauntiness. She looked around at the tangle of equipment and robotic arms that filled Piata's half-installed lab.

Piata, who was not at ease with administrators at the best of times, and certainly not when they had interrupted boring but time-sensitive screwing, said, "Hi."

The smile transmuted to a grin. "The usual address is 'Sir.' Am I welcome in your lair?"

Piata drew herself up, projecting the power and authority of a woman who owned at least two lab coats. "It's your ship! But the proper address for _me_ is Dr. Kushnirenko."

"Dr. Kushnirenko." The captain's tongue slid over the consonants with surprising ease. "You can call me Captain Spear. In case you need a spear."

"I'll be fine with a screwdriver and a socket wrench. Captain."

"You look like a woman who understands leverage."

Piata tried the uncomprehending but benign smile she had perfected the one semester she'd been stuck as a teaching assistant, her lips pressed together, eyebrows not quite arched.

"There's a staff luncheon at 13:00 tomorrow, Dr. Kushnirenko. You're invited. Don't be late."

Captain Spear pivoted gracefully, and the door hissed shut again behind her. Piata was left with the uneasy feeling that she had made _entirely_ the wrong impression.

* * *

  
Piata was the first to arrive for the staff luncheon: no matter what her personal reservations, she would never turn down free food. There was fried protein with a mysterious white sauce, three different styles of potato, something green and frilly for people who liked that sort of thing, and blessed, blessed coffee. No protein with white sauce could ever taste as good as the glorious 1 AM donair of Piata's grad school days, but this tangier version was acceptable, and the crunchy potatoes were top notch. 

Other crew members filtered in. Piata saw lots of green frilly stuff on plates, and lots of fizzy water in glasses, which left more caffeine and potatoes for her. She was just grabbing her second cup of coffee (or her fifth, depending on how you counted) when Captain Spear arrived. Everyone who was seated stood, in a not-quite-simultaneous rush, like this was some kind of Grade 5 play. The captain moved through the room easily, touching an arm here and an elbow there. She shared a joke with the head of Botany, whose feathery antennae waved in amused response.

Piata had read up on the captain, now. She hadn't bothered, earlier, because her lab budget had seemed more important, but there was a time and a place for everything. She knew, therefore, that Captain Spear was something of a public figure. She had a reputation for "personal diplomacy," which was a kind way of saying that she had engaged in very close encounters with any number of alien princesses, or approximately-alien approximately-princesses. Touring the galaxy gave one a lot of latitude. Piata shrugged; a 79-cubic-meter domain would suffice for her. She added a third creamer to her coffee, enjoying the swirling pattern. 

When Piata looked up, Captain Spear was beside her, gesturing for attention. Fortunately, the captain's actual speech was short: "Everyone, I'd like you to welcome Dr. Kushnirenko to the _Musquash_. I've researched her background very thoroughly, and I'm convinced she'll be a delightful addition to our crew."

The staff applauded politely and went back to munching their frilly things. This left Piata to talk to the captain, or vice versa. 

"Dr. Kushnirenko," the captain said, regarding her closely. "You are wearing bunny slippers."

Piata was proud of her ship shoes. They were made of a resilient and washable material that imitated canvas, they imparted a bounce to her walk, and they had bunnies painted on the side. "I like rabbits. They are so adorably nervous. They flick their ears at you, and then they hop away as fast as they can."

"Hmmm. You know, our background checks are very thorough. I should congratulate you on your membership in Club Justine."

Piata's automatic smirk at memories of leather and cord and heavy velvet curtains disappeared as the captain reached out to brush at her lapel. There was nothing wrong with her lapel. Captain Spear had pegged her wrong—as the saying went. "I thought I remembered to cancel that membership. Along with the K-drama streaming and the monthly box of snacks."

"I'll do my best to make it up to you! What was in your snack box? Smarties and maple syrup?"

"Of course there were Smarties. They're the best candy." Piata knew she was falling for a distraction. Worse, the captain probably thought this discussion was cute. She took a deep breath and stopped herself from explaining why green Smarties were the best accompaniment for data analysis.

"You're lucky, then. I am the best provider." With a last little pat for Piata's shoulder, Captain Spear moved on. She was next seen whispering in the ear of a statuesque financial officer whose tattoos curved like topographic maps.

Piata sipped her creamy coffee, sighing. This wasn't just going to be awkward. This was going to be _eight years_ of awkward.

* * *

  
The captain came back to Piata's lab the following afternoon. She was carrying something small in her left hand. If it was dog tags, Piata was going to trigger a robot insurrection.

"Dr. Kushnirenko, I have a favor to ask. I broke the clasp on one of my favorite pieces of jewelry. You have all sorts of tools and fabricators here"—the captain gestured vaguely—"is that something you could fix?" She opened her hand, revealing a necklace made of folded golden links shaped like half-moons. A tiny padlock hung from a central link.

"This is your own personal possession?" If Piata's brain had been air-cooled, the whirring would have been loud enough to drown out conversation.

"Yes?" The captain maintained her cheerful ship's-captain smile, but her gaze flickered down for a moment. Her eyelashes were thick and dark. The quiver of uncertainty lasted just long enough for Piata to become certain that _she_ was the one who had made a classification error.

Piata didn't mind being wrong, when the right answer was this good. She felt a grin of anticipation spreading across her face. "I can fix the necklace, but it will take a little while. You should clear your schedule."

The captain nodded. "Computer, if anyone inquires, I am in a meeting of tremendous importance for the next two hours."

"And, computer? Lock the lab door." 

The computer played a triple tone of acquiescence. 

"If you need to interrupt, the word is 'audits.'" That formality over, Piata unbuttoned her labcoat, humming thoughtfully. "Give me the necklace."

The captain held it out, her eyes open just a little bit too wide. 

Piata took the necklace, sliding the links through her fingers. "Computer, show me Zulybeth's pulse on Screen Three.—And you. It is Zulybeth, yes? Do you really need more jewelry? We could repurpose this metal into so many interesting things. A chess pawn and a queen, or a robot with many eyes. Right now it's sort of useless. Do you even have a key for this lock?"

"I was hoping you could manufacture a new key."

"I can do all kinds of things. But I like to be asked with respect."

The captain sank to her knees in a single fluid motion. "Dr. Kushnirenko, please. That jewelry is very important to me. I would do anything to make it wearable again."

"Anything, hmmmm? Didn't anyone ever tell you not to make promises to mad scientists?" Piata shoved the necklace into a fabricator drawer, listening for the click, then typed a quick command into a nearby keypad.

"I've seen your CV, Dr. Kushnirenko. Your degree is in engineering." The captain had dropped back to a light, bantering tone, but Piata could see the spike in her heart rate.

"My first degree was in physics. But engineers get the best toys." A robotic arm shot out from the wall, grabbed the captain's jaunty hat, swiveled to hold it in front of her eyes, and crushed it. Piata laughed. She had been longing to squash that hat for a while. 

"You are the smashing buildings type of engineer?"

Zulybeth hadn't flinched, but Piata could see the effort that it took her to speak lightly. "That's right. Stay still." 

Piata stretched, a long, lazy, gloating stretch, then palmed a tool out of another drawer. She walked back toward the captain, bouncing a little in her rubber shoes, enjoying the eyes upon her. Zulybeth's hair swirled into curls like the links in her necklace. Now that that silly hat was gone, Piata could run her hands through it, luxuriating in its springiness. "You may open your suit. Unless you'd like to do this the hard way." GES uniforms were keyed to the wearer.

"Oh, you haven't seen how hard I can work." Zulybeth ran her thumb and forefinger down the front of her uniform, from her throat to her waist. Her uniform unfurled, fabric parting like the peel of a shiny blue fruit. 

Zulybeth's undergarment was closer to armor than to lingerie. Those lightly ribbed curves didn't just make a flattering foundation garment, they were impact-resistant, tear-resistant, and, for all Piata knew, impervious to stray bursts of raygun fire. But they weren't going to be impervious to her. She ran one finger along the line of Zulybeth's collarbone, tracing the skin at the edge of that foundation garment, and watched her hold her breath. The tool followed—it would be cold, Piata knew—just a gentle trace, calibrating. Then she flicked the vibrablade on and ran it down that same center line, from a point beneath Zulybeth's throat to her navel. Zulybeth's armor split, with a sound like sproing! It had been under a lot of tension.

Zulybeth's breasts were smaller than they had seemed under all that protective gear. Just the right size to cup in Piata's hand. Her nipples were big and dark, and she made the loveliest little squeak as Piata's thumbs circled them. She wanted. She wished so hard, and she was waiting so patiently. Piata pulled her to her feet and kissed her, hugging her tight, feeling the edges of that stupid armor press into her own soft skin. Zulybeth hummed in the back of her throat, still wishing, running her hands along Piata's back.

"Ask for what you want," Piata said, breaking the kiss.

"My necklace back? A pony? Oh, hell. No. I want to touch you." Those heavy eyelashes telegraphed every change in Zulybeth's gaze. She was looking at Piata's decidedly organic curves, under her open labcoat, and then back to her face. "Please, Dr. Kushnirenko. Tell me how."

"Mmmm. Let's see if you can concentrate." One of Piata's current projects was hooked to a rack. It had six long, flexible silver arms joined to a flexible egg-shaped center. It was full of sensors, but Piata only needed basic motion capability, and the tiniest bit of feedback.

"Am I an experiment? Dr. Kushnirenko?" Zulybeth held still as Piata hooked fine robot arms around her waist and thighs. The robot attached itself to her suit with faint pinpricks. Her resulting laugh had the tiniest shiver in it. 

"Computer, link motion feedback to the data on Screen Three." She caressed Zulybeth's face and breasts, waiting. Just a little adjustment—yes. There.

The center of Piata's toy shifted down, curving into the space between Zulybeth's legs, and began to vibrate. "Oh." Zulybeth's heart must be jumping in recognition, because the buzz intensified. "Piata—Dr. Kushnirenko—I can't, it's so much—tell me now, please."

"Deep breaths." Piata boosted herself onto a counter and kicked off her darling rabbit shoes, then slid out of her comfy pants and underwear. She felt the wetness in her panties as she slipped them off. Watching the captain ( _her_ captain!) was just so satisfying. There Zulybeth was, forcing patience, trying to take deep breaths, shuddering with need. Piata would match her, need for need. "I want your tongue on my clit."

"Oh. Thank you." Then Zulybeth was kneeling in front of her again, clever fingers making a pathway for her clever tongue.

Piata touched her hair lightly. "There. Yes. Good. Oh, you know how to do this, don't you? Oh, God." Piata squeezed her eyes shut now, seeing the glow of the inside of her eyelids, feeling that same brightness growing. It was here, it was now, pressure was how stars were born, the center of a galaxy, that glow. Fuck, yes. There. 

Zulybeth's hands tightened on Piata's thighs, but she was good, she was listening, she didn't stop. "Two fingers," Piata said. They slid in easily. She was a capacitor now, she was holding charge, she was held. 

"You are so good." Piata let her voice waver just a little, and heard an answering moan. Their rhythm broke for a moment as Zulybeth lifted her head, gasping as orgasm cascaded through her. Then she was back, her tongue moving as Piata pushed toward her. Desire was moving between them, oh yes, this was a well-built circuit. Piata laughed in sheer unalloyed glee. This was going to be a good voyage.


End file.
